Bad
by clayheart
Summary: She always wanted him to come back for her. He's just a little too late.


**I don't know how I feel about this, but feedback would be wonderful and much appreciated :)**

**Hope you like! **

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She didn't know what he was doing here. She didn't know what made him think he had the right to be here after breaking her heart. If he was anyone else, she'd have no trouble kicking him to the curb. She'd yell, "Get lost, you useless hood!" and he'd shrug like it didn't mean anything and mutter, "Stupid broad," under his breath as he ambled to the sidewalk. He'd play it off real cool, like he didn't have a care in the world. He'd act as though she needed him more than he needed her, even though he was the one who showed up at her doorstep. Maybe in the long run, she did need him more, but not in this moment.

She didn't want to open the door. She hears the knock and glances through the window, luckily he doesn't see her. Her stomach flips when she sees it's him and at the same time her blood boils. She stomps towards the door, ready to give him a piece of her mind, but she freezes with her hand on the handle. She is scared. The anger that was so strong suddenly dissolves. She wants to cry, but she can't figure out where it's coming from. Her breath catches in her throat when she hears him mumble on the other side of the door. His words are unintelligible, but he is annoyed, probably because she's taking so long.

What right did he have to be annoyed, though? It was his fault she was paralyzed whenever his name was mentioned, and now he decides to show up uninvited. She can't, for the life of her, figure out why her, why did he come here. She knows she will most likely never find out. She wanted it to be because he needed her, he wanted her, he had to see her, but she knows even if that was the case, he would never tell her. _It's no big deal_, she thinks, but it is a big deal, to her.

She musters up the courage to open the door and she does so slowly, allowing him to become visible to her. She holds onto the handle still, leaning against the door for support, because she needs it. He doesn't. He stands at her doorstep in jeans and a t-shirt, his hands shoved in his front pockets, he gazes up at her. It's much too cold tonight to only be wearing a t-shirt, but she doesn't invite him inside just yet. He doesn't smile when he sees her, and she doesn't smile either, and they stare at each other for a minute or two, because they almost can't believe they're face to face again.

_I missed you,_ she thinks about saying it, but something stops her. _I missed you so much, you son of a bitch, how could you leave? _Yet no words fall from her mouth. She doesn't want to be the first one to say something, and even if she was going to be, those weren't the right words to say. If they slipped out, he'd scoff and shake his head the way he always does at something pathetic, then he'd stroll away, not caring about the state he'd leave her in. She could think of so many ways she could go wrong, but not one where she could go right, and that was his affect on her.

His heart was racing a little bit. It was like the rush he felt before a fight. He wasn't nervous, he was never nervous, but this was as close as he would ever get. She wasn't like the others. When something was bothering him, she didn't harass him to find out what. She just made it better. He didn't know what it was about her or how she was the perfect remedy for everything, but she simply was and he took that for what it was. He didn't question it, he didn't think about it much, but he always remembered it. He always remembered her.

"You gonna let me in?" he asks. He's bold about it, and if she didn't know him so well, she would think he was rude. But that was the problem, she knew him too well. She knew he was going to ask sooner or later and she knew he was going to be blunt about it. She steps back, allowing him to enter. He brushes past her and their shoulders touch briefly. Her breathing pauses while he doesn't notice.

She shuts the door quietly, turning around to face him after. She hasn't smiled yet and neither has he but they are happy. She's waiting eagerly on him, but he wants to hear her voice. He should know she's too stubborn to speak. She wants to know what he's doing here; he knows that but pretends he doesn't. He doesn't want to talk about it, as usual.

"So, uh, how are you?" he asks. His voice is deep and comforting, though he sounds so skeptical. She's appalled that he thinks he can waste her time. She could have been doing something important. She wasn't, for the record, partially the reason why she paid attention to the door in the first place, but she could have been. She knows she has wasted enough time on him and it's selfish of him to think she needs to waste more.

"Cut the crap," she snaps. He isn't surprised. He knows she dips into the language when she's angry, because he knows her well. He knows he's making her angry, but he doesn't know how to stop. He wants to see her smile, and it'd be even better if he was the reason, but he doesn't know how to do that anymore. She smiles for lots of reasons, but not for him. She continues: "Who the hell do you think you are comin' around here?"

He doesn't know what to say. For once, he's speechless. A million witty remarks run through his mind, but he won't say any of them, because she doesn't deserve it. He's been bad. He knows she won't hesitate to throw him out if he oversteps his boundaries, so he hushes himself. He tries not to be sarcastic or mean. He doesn't want to be like that around her, anyway. But it's hard. He can't change like she expects him to.

"I was around, thought I'd stop by," he tells her. "Wanted to see you," he adds under his breath. She doesn't catch it like he hopes she would. He wants her to know, but he isn't going to be the one to tell her. He can't. He doesn't know how. He wants to stay, possibly forever. Not forever, no, he couldn't do forever. But a long time, yes, and when he wanted to leave he'd take her with him this time.

"Please go," she says. She steps backwards and opens the door. It swings wide open with the push she gives it. She's still facing him. He can't stand her eyes on him. He feels uncomfortable, which isn't what he came here for. He used to bask in her gaze, but her eyes were different then. They looked at him with pure admiration, but now they were judgmental and hurting. It was his fault. It was always his fault. She tried relentlessly, but he was too difficult. She needed someone who was reliable and stable, but he couldn't be tamed. It had seemed so desirable then, once upon a time, but she would never make that mistake again.

He resists the urge to kiss her as he walks towards the door. He wasn't fit enough to kiss her. She could do better than him and he always knew it, but she stayed. She stayed day and night, even when things got rocky, and they argued, but they always made up in the end. She stayed every day until he left. She woke up one morning and he was gone and he didn't come back for her until today. It was weeks ago, but it felt like years. And some days, it felt like hours.

He's on the porch now. She thinks about shutting the door, but it's not that easy. He turns around and his eyes wander over her. He wants her. He thinks about apologizing, but he doesn't know how. He doesn't know if he can. He doesn't know how it'll sound. He's full of sincere regret, but why would she care? She seems to have moved on and his sorry would mean nothing to her, but he tries like she always wanted him to. He's just too late.

"Sorry to bother you," he says. He sounds so empty, so lifeless. He has no emotion in the way he says it. He doesn't sound sorry. She knows he's never been sorry in his life, but she takes it. It's the most closure she is ever going to get, because he doesn't talk about his feelings and she has too many to ignore. He came here tonight, because she's the only one he knows who can make everything better, but he's been here one too many times. Her will to help him isn't as strong as it once used to be and she doesn't have the energy to care for him anymore. All he does is take and she can't continue to give.

"I know you are, Dallas," she replies. His name tastes toxic on her tongue. It feels almost foreign now. She hasn't said it for so long. His name goes through her mind numerous times every day, but it is never spoken. She feels weird saying it, like it doesn't belong, like it isn't hers to say. She begins to breathe a little easier knowing this encounter is coming to a close. Part of her can't wait for him to be gone, but deep down she wishes he'd stay. She would constantly have to catch her breath if he stuck around, but she yearned for it. She hated him here, but she needed it.

He turns and walks away. She watches him until he reaches the sidewalk. He doesn't look back, not even once, and that crushes her. He's really gone this time. She can finally be done with this childish game he plays. She can find someone who gives just as much as they take and she can be healthy again, but she doesn't want to be. There was a certain kind of madness about being with Dallas Winston. It was a spontaneous rush and it wasn't normal, but it was something. He made her feel more than she thought she could.

She slams the door, angry with his sudden appearance. She wishes he had never come around, because now she's a mess and she doesn't know how to handle it. He's a mess too, but he won't show it. She sits on the floor and begins to cry. He smokes a cigarette as he walks to the bar down the street. She didn't want to see him tonight, but he wanted to see her, and he always got what he wanted.


End file.
